Happy Mother’s Day, Mamas

During a recent trip to my parents’ house, I was lounging about,
nursing the baby in my old childhood bedroom, unrecognizable now with
sunset-colored walls and framed vintage travel prints where there used
to be smudges and a sizable shrine to the Backstreet Boys. I could hear
snippets of conversation wafting up the stairs from the living room
where my mother, dubbed “Mimi” by our three year-old, my husband, and
son were playing. “I don’t like Mommy. I just like Daddy,” a little
voice chirped, matter-of-factly. My ears sharpened. “That’s not very
nice,” I heard someone say. Again, “I don’t like Mommy.” Tears sprang to
my eyes involuntarily and thus, I received my first emotional gut punch
at the hands of my child.

For as long as he’s been alive, my son
has preferred my husband. I get it. He and I see each other all day and
as such, have ample opportunities to get sick of one another. Mommy is
always ruining his life by not letting him do awesome stuff like
coloring on his face with black marker or cutting up his clothes with
the kitchen shears. Daddy is fun! He turns the living room into a
wrestling arena and can accurately draw all the characters from Shrek on
the Magna Doodle. It’s not a competition, but I have to admit I’m a
little envious of the overjoyed, beaming child that flies into my
husband’s arms when he gets home from work.

My mother gently
reminded me, early on, when my feelings would get hurt, “Mothers get the
short end of the stick.” I guess we figure we can heap as much abuse on
them as we want and they’ll still love us. Hearing my child say he
didn’t like me was a slap in the face. I wanted to run down the stairs
and yell, “I carried you for nine months! I put my life on hold for you!
I’ve sacrificed my body, time with my husband, and countless hours of
sleep for you! I would gouge someone’s eyes out if they ever tried to
hurt you and you don’t like me?!” But, of course, you can’t say that to a
three year-old. Of all the things you can’t make your children
understand, unconditional love may be the most maddening.

Nothing
is more obnoxious than when some self-righteous uber mom smarms at you,
“You won’t understand until you have children,” but, in this case, Uber
Mom is right. It’s not an insult. It’s simply a fact. I remember being
at the mall with my mom when I was a kid and hearing a security guard
yell, “Stop or I’ll shoot” at a thief as they both went tearing by. With
no hesitation whatsoever, my mother flattened me against the wall of a
shoe store, human shield-style. Even as an eight year-old, I was
floored. That kind of love is indescribable and is only able to be
repaid by experiencing it with your own child. They will puke in your
hair at the grocery store and you will clean them up first. They will
scream that they hate you because they don’t want to put their shoes on
and you will not sell them to pirates. That is love. Happy Mother’s Day,
Mom. I get it now.

But when they show athletes on television, despite the hours that Dad spent helping that athlete hone their skills, when the TV cameras are on them, they always say "Hi Mom!" I think eventually they get it.This comment has been hidden due to low approval.